In Tyler We Trusted
by Tyler Bateman Esq
Summary: The Narrator is out in the real world. Marla is making money and Tyler's life is about to be made into a movie. Guess who's not happy. Contains minor slash in the last chapter.
1. All your friends are make believe

**In Tyler We Trusted**

**Chapter One: All Your Friends are Make Believe**

  
  


**T**his is the start of a new series I'm writing. I managed to destro**y** "American Psycho" for some peop**le**. I even hea**r**d that some people can't watch "Fr**i**end**s**" anymore. Let's see what happens when I tu**r**n my att**e**ntions to "Fight Club". It follows on **a**fter the fi**l**m. However, I have borrowed some elements from the book. So, anything you don't remember from the film have probably been taken from the book. 

  
  


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It's been five years since what my doctors like me to refer to as "The Incident". Five years and in that time I have managed to come to terms with the fact that for a brief period in my life I was insane. Tyler would say that in someways everyone is insane. But it doesn't matter what Tyler would say. Tyler's gone.

  
  


It's funny really because when I first came to the psyche ward I thought it was Heaven. My doctor was God and Marla was writing to me from Earth. However, after a while I gave up. Whether I had a moment of clarity or the drugs I was fed everyday finally managed to get into my bloodstream through to my brain, it didn't matter. I was Jack's cold hard slap in the face. I was ready to leave. Before then I wasn't allowed any visitors. I wasn't ready for visitors. Not yet. That didn't stop Tyler. During a Prozac induced state I was able to wake up long enough to see Tyler banging from the inside on my cell door. Yelling. Get me out! Let me out you Fuckers! That was the second to last time I saw him.

  
  


Fast forward and I'm making my way out of the psyche ward. All my worldly possessions wrapped up into a brown paper bag. I walked outside and I was greeted by Marla. She looked good. While I had been inside, she had sole her story to every chat show and tabloid she could. Chat shows have this policy where you have to sign a contract that says whatever you talk about can not be talked about on any other show. You are their exclusive. This didn't stop Marla. While she appeared on one show talking about having sex with a man with dual personalities, she was on another talking about her addiction to support groups. With the money she made she moved out of her roach motel and moved on up. Right up to the newly restored apartment that used to belong to me before Tyler blew it up. 

  
  


NO!

  
  


Tyler didn't blow it up. I did.

  
  


Another thing Marla had done was get me spots on the same chat shows for when I get out. Jerry Springer, Sally Jessy Raphael, Jenny Jones. Hell, even Geraldo came back to do a one hour special. They all wanted a piece of me and they got it. I am Jack's pound of flesh. Then when the TV vultures had picked apart my carcass, Marla turned my skeleton over to the ad execs. The white collars loved the idea of a sociopathic leader of an underground cult selling their goods. Especially when said leader had a tendency to fight again commercialisation and materialism before failing to blow a series of credit card buildings.

  
  


I am not my car keys.

I am not my bowel cancer.

I am not my grande latte.

I am not my bank account.

But I am my beer. I drink Bud Lite.

  
  


Very Post-Ironic.

  
  


And not once did I complain or struggle. Why should I? Marla was helping me to edge my way back into society. She gave a roof over my head. She let me sleep on the living room floor. In the exact same spot where I use to have my coffee table shaped like the Ying-Yang symbol. However, a part of me knew that Tyler was gonna come back. How did I know? In Tyler I trusted.

  
  


Y'see, while I had been sleeping on Marla's living room floor, Tyler had been reading. He had been reading all the newspaper clippings Marla had made about Project Mayhem. Tyler wasn't happy. 

  
  


The purpose of Project Mayhem was that should I have succeeded in stopping Tyler, each person in the group could carry on independently of leadership. However while the cat's away, the mice shall play. Some people had got to big for their boots and had made themselves leaders of certain sections of the movement. Without Tyler they had got sloppy and a year before I got out, 95% of the space monkeys were arrested. It was rumoured that the other 5% were to afraid to leave their houses and so the threat of Project Mayhem was over. No more sticking "OUT OF ORDER" signs on ATM machines. No more attempts to blow up federal buildings. No more urban myths about Tyler. No nothing.

  
  


Now this wasn't what bothered Tyler. He could always get new space monkeys. I knew this because Tyler knew this. What did bother him was what he read in the final few pages of Marla's scrap book. What Tyler read would forever scar him. When he had finished reading he would leave and the next morning I would be left with the feeling that Tyler had been here and that Tyler had a plan. As I say, in Tyler I trusted.


	2. Back to Normality

In Tyler we trusted

  
  


Chapter 2: Back to Normality?

  
  


Author's note: Okay,** t**his prett**y** much the same as the **l**ast chapt**er**. This **wa**s originally goi**n**g** t**o be the la**s**t chapter, but I edited it so that I could start doing a series. Anyway, hope **you** enjoy it. 

Oh and for those people that are worried that Marla has sold out. Don't worry! It's all gonna get mentioned later on. Oh yeah, I don't know anything about the hotels in LA, so don't flame me saying the hotel doesn't exist because I have no idea.

  
  


* * *

Florida to LA. Planes, time loss, single serving friends. It's all coming back to me. Marla has me going from one place to another. Even if I don't want to. Gee, de ja vu, Mr Cornflower Blue Tie. I moved out of her apartment last week and into the apartment below. Some may say that this is not really moving out, but I really don't think I can be too far away from Marla. I don't love her! It's just that she's been very good for me. It feels like yesterday when I told her about Tyler and his general non-existence. It's feels like an afternoon ago when in the federal credit card building with Tyler I saw Marla, below, striding along with all the people I had met in the support groups. Lung Cancer, Brain Parasites, Incest Survivors, Positive Positivity. They were all there looking up shouting "We want to help you!".

But I shouldn't think about things like that. That's not me anymore. It gets me depressed. Which is one of the reasons why I bought the lap top. I didn't use for business because I don't own one and I don't use it for work because I don't have any. I have the lap top because with I am able to play Doom wherever I am and the fact I have an Internet connection means that I can download any number of stories from the net, print them out and read them on the flights. I love downloading the really weird Fan Fiction. This is the stuff written by fans of TV shows who really have nothing better to do with their time then make up ridiculous excuses for their fictional heroes to fuck. I'm talking Superman fucking Wonder Woman, Bugs fucking Daffy, Archie fucking Jughead, Indiana Jones fucking Lara Croft, the list never ends. If these people can get them to fuck, they will! And I love reading them. "It's comforting to know that there are people out there, sicker then I am" as Tim Curry once said. 

However, I am unable to enjoy my freakish porn this flight. This si because of my Single Serving Friend. An Obese man who was wolfing down bag after bag of complimentary peanuts. He had this horrible grating accent. It sounded like the accent I heard on that British gangster movie with that soccer player in it. "Scouse", I think that's what they call it. Each peanut he shovelled into his mouth died an largely audible death. So even if I looked out of the window beside me or closed my eyes I could still picture him slobbering and licking his fat fingers and chubby lips. The initials on his briefcase read BFF. This I translated as Big Fat Fucker.

Thankfully, after an hour my bladder allowed me to take a piss. Now imagine. You come back and you find BFF has taken it upon himself to move into your seat. All your belongings s have been moved over to his seat. U count to ten, as your doctor has told you and you begin to talk. Excuse me, you say, you're in my seat. There's no response. BFF just looks at you and you find yourself lowering your head and looking at your Hush Puppies. You are Jack's shame.

"What?!" says BFF.

"Your in my seat" you stutter, "I need the seat by the window."

You don't tell him the reason. That ever since you came out of the nut house, you've become prone to flight sickness. Reason number 2 for the cartoon porn: distraction.

"There's a window in that aisle" he slobbers pointing behind you. You take a quick look and then turn around smiling. 

"I appreciate that, but I booked this seat." you say. Hoping that your voice didn't sound too harsh. Remember, the doctors said avoid all confrontations. Treat all your enemies as friends.

"Sir, there's no need for that kind of language" You say

"Why the fuck not?" BFF says stern fully.

"Because if you keep talking like that you're gonna raise your blood pressure, Tubby. And what with the salt on the peanuts you've been shovelling down your neck, you're gonna give yourself a heart attack. You'll be dead before the plane even makes the emergency descent to land.

These are not your words!

Tyler!

BFF is staring up at me. His face white. Tyler squeezes past and sits down next to him.

"Now listen, Friend" Tyler beams, "You are going to move and let my other friend sit down."

Tyler points up at me, but you can tell by BFF's face that he can't see anyone. Tyler's words ring in my head. _Sometimes you imagine yourself watching me_. Tyler's not there. I'm sat in that seat. I'm the one with his arm around BFF and shaking immense gut with the other. It's me, not Tyler, because Tyler doesn't exist.

"Oh yes I do." Tyler smiles up at me.

I feel nauseous and I run to the toilet, Tyler's laugh can be distinctly heard behind me. Before I've even locked the bathroom door, I'm sick in the sick and down my pants. Fifteen minutes later I come out of the bathroom. Tyler has gone and so has BFF. The seat, in fact the entire row from one side of the plane to the other, is mine.

  
  
  
  


The LA Hilton. The biggest hotel in LA. Critically acclaimed around the world. However, I don't care about "the divine food". I fail to notice "the luxury bedspreads" and quite frankly, I could give less of a fuck right now about "the politeness of the staff". I'm more concerned about Tyler. 

"Tyler!" I scream, "Tyler, I need to talk to you."

I stay in my room for a solid fifteen hours, before I fall asleep in the chair next to my "conveniately placed desktop with twelve sheets of headed note paper". I am woken by a women's screaming orgasm. I sit up and see Tyler sat on the end of my bed. He's watching the porn channel.

"Done that. Done that. Done that." he says, each time the woman moves herself into a different position or the guy penetrates her in a different orifice.

For some reason I laugh. He may have done these things, but it was with my body that he did them with. The cocky sonuvabitch.

"Well, look who's up!" Tyler says not even looking at me, "Make yourself a cup of coffee, we have a long talk ahead of us."

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Fist in the air in the land of hypocrasy

**Chapter Three: Fist in the Air in the Land of Hypocrisy**

  
  


**Authors note:** _Okay, so this chapter took a little longer than I thought. I may decide to update it later on. This is a longer chapter than the rest because it maybe a while till the next and I wanted to give to something to chew over. Due to the irregularity of my work, if you wanna know when the next chapter is going up, send me your email address and I'll let you know._

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_Remember where the thought is_

_I brought all this_

_So you can survive when law is lawless_

_Feelings, sensations that you thought_

_were dead_

_No squealing, remember_

_(that it's all in your head)_ -"Clint Eastwood" Gorillaz

  
  


It's funny when you meet someone after five years. I mean, you're amazed at how much they've changed and how they've gotten older, but this didn't account for Tyler. Tyler's face was as fresh and young as it was when I first met him on that aeroplane on the way back to my flaming apartment. The only thing that was new was that he was wearing a hat. I know, a hat doesn't constitute much of a description, but not once had I ever seen Tyler wearing a hat. I pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered him one.

"No thanks. I don't smoke" Tyler said turning off the porn.

"What d'ya mean you don't smoke?" I laughed,

"Exactly what I say." Tyler turned his whole body round until his knees touched mine. "Look, when we smoke we begin to get cravings. We get cravings for nicotine. When we get those cravings we buy cigarettes, but why do we do this? Is the urge to get black tar in our lungs that big? No! We, myself included, are falling for the trap of buying things we do not need. It's because of this I quit."

"Tyler Durden,. Communist until the end." I smiled

"I am not a communist. I am an anti-capitalist."

He smiled, took a rope of licorice from his pocket and sucked on it thoughtfully. 

"You're probably wondering why I'm here?" he said "Especially after you destroyed my beautiful plan and shot me in the head."

"Well, now that you mention it, I am a little curious."

"Well, I happened to come across something that Marla gave you which I find a little bit intriguing."

And with that he threw a 200 page manuscript onto my lap. I had been quite calm up until now, but I shivered slightly when I saw what it was. 

Rewind about three weeks before I came to LA and picture me sat watching Saturday morning cartoons. Marla comes bursting in from her meeting at the "Support Group Addicts Support Group". Yes, it is as dumb as it sounds. Apparently, Marla and I were not the only Support Group addicts out there. Remember Bob? Bitch Tits Bob? Turns out he was one. Yeah, I know what you're thinking._ "But he'd lost both his testicles"_. However, when his body was dug up from my Zen garden both the autopsy and his wife (who had never left him BTW) confirmed that his balls had been in working order right up until he received a lead aspirin. As for his tits, what can I say, he was just a fat bastard. Nothing more I can say will convince you, but then again, you never met him so you can't debate about this. Anyway, Marla was the leader of this group and she held it every Saturday. Every Saturday she would come home exhausted, but this week she came home euphoric. She ran up to me and kiss me hard on the lips. She tasted of Marlboro and Wrigley's, for those of you that want to know.

"What was that for?" I asked

"I've got a trip for you to LA." She said making her way to her room.

"And why would I be going to LA?" I said sitting up on the couch.

"Because of this." she said as she came back out of the room.

She threw a 200 page manuscript on my lap in the same way Tyler would do three weeks later. I picked it up and read the title.

  
  


**Fight Club **

**By John Noonan**

  
  


I flicked through the manuscript and read some of the pages. It was a movie script with very familiar dialect.

  
  


**Int. Bathroom. Night**

  
  


**Jack is brushing his teeth. Tyler is clipping his nails.**

  
  


**Tyler**

**If you could fight anyone in history, who would it be?**

  
  


**Jack**

**Gandhi**

  
  


**Tyler**

**Good answer.**

  
  


I closed the manuscript and stood up. 

  
  


"Okay three questions. Who the fuck is John Noonan? What the fuck is he doing writing about Fight Club? And where the fuck did he get this stuff?"

  
  


I probably would have looked more threatening to Marla if I wasn't wearing my Eric Cartman T-Shirt and my dick hadn't been hanging out of my boxers. Marla simply laughed.

  
  


"Calm down." she said sitting me down and sitting next to me. "John Noonan is just a wannabe script writer. He's written a script for a film which has been in production for about eight months now. He got this stuff from a couple of your space monkeys that are in jail, me, your boss and.... you."

"This doesn't make sense. How did he get information off me?"

"Every time you were doped up, they sent Noonan in to talk to you. You told him everything. Tyler, Project Mayhem, The Paper Street Soap company. Everything. Now the film is nearly finished and they want you to go down there and view the rough cut."

"Why?"

Marla sighed as a mother would when her child was in a sulk. She lit a cigarette and continued. 

"I can give you one million reasons. All with the presidents face on them. You're gonna get paid for this. The director they got is the guy who directed "Seven". He's really anal about how his movies should look. So he gave me a bell and asked me to ship you down so that you could see the final scenes being filmed and make sure everything was how you remembered it."

  
  


Marla had become my agent, without me ever realising it. This was sad. Here I was trying to blend into society and here was this Noonan fuck writing about me and immortalising me as this complete wacko. However, what could I do.

  
  


"How long do I have to go away for? I'm about to move into my apartment in two days."

Marla smiled. "You'll leave in threes weeks and you'll stay for two months. Don't worry nothing is gonna happen to your apartment while your gone."

"Y'know, my neighbour said that to me before I came back to see my coffee table fly through the ceiling to floor windows." 

  
  


There was a brief silence and then we both laughed. Marla had a very infectious laugh and once you were caught up in it, it could take up to an hour before you calmed down. Another reason why I like her. Not love! Like!

  
  


"Who gives a fuck if you love her not?" 

Uh-oh, looks like the flashbacks over.

"Sorry, Tyler. My mind ran away from me."

"Now listen to me" Tyler said stern fully, "I'm going to see you tomorrow and we are going to work something out here. This film can not go ahead."

"Why not?" 

"Well, it's obvious! Isn't it?" said Tyler taking out another licorice rope. "This movie can not go ahead."

  
  


I am Jack's intense feeling of dread. Tyler had a plan. If Tyler had a plan, he needed me. Tyler could obviously see the ambiguous look of fear and confusion on my face. He stood up and walked to the mini-bar. He pulled out two bottles of Jack D and threw one to me. The bottle flew past me and out the open window behind me. Tyler smirked. 

  
  


"You know that you were meant to catch that." 

"Tyler," I finally said, "Why can't this movie go ahead?"

  
  


Tyler smiled again. I was falling into his web again. Just like the last time. 

  
  


Tyler used to work in a cinema. You know those single frames of vaginas and cocks that appeared in Disney films? That was Tyler. Maybe I've already told you this. Now this wasn't just a simple act of urban terrorism. Tyler did it so that kids would never want to see the film ever again. In turn, their parents would never buy them merchandise that would remind them of the film. I mean, if your kid burst out screaming or crying for no apparent reason in "The Emperor's New Groove", would you buy them a stuffed llama. By quenching the child's thirst for toys, Tyler was well on his way to starting a war against commercialisation. 

  
  


"Now out comes this film of my life and you know there is gonna be a shit load of merchandise to follow." whined Tyler "Look at that movie "Lost in Space". You know there were toy companies everywhere creaming their pants at the chance of turning that chameleon/monkey piece of crap into a doll. Now if they did it with that film, they'll do it with this one. They'll be "Fight Club" action figures, "Fight club" lunch boxes, T-shirts, CD soundtracks by fucking hip-hop bands that no one has ever heard of. Christ, they'll probably even be comic books. Now I don't wanna sound like a whinger..."

  
  


Which he did!

  
  


"Having my words immortalised on film is a dream come true. However, to have my words used to sell shit that no one really needs.... It's a contradiction"

"I know what you mean." I said comforting,

"Like fuck you do, Mr Bud Lite boy."

  
  


Tyler breathed heavily. He was pissed. The very idea his words were being used to sell things... Well, that was too horrible to even contemplate.

  
  


"Well, I'm not gonna help you." I said, "I'm just gonna go watch the movie, get my $1 million and go home."

"I don't need your help, Ikea boy." Tyler said turning his back on me,

"I'm afraid you do." It was my time to smirk, "After all, you need me to exist."

Tyler spun round. "Fuck you! Fuck.....you! I exist. I'm real!"

"Tyler, stop kidding yourself. You said it yourself, why would you create a loser alter-ego to make yourself feel better."

"Well, I was pissed off with you at the time, Tyler."

  
  


Ladies and Gentlemen, do not adjust your font. He _did_ just call me Tyler.

  
  


"Tyler, you're Tyler."

"No way!" He said sitting back down on the bed, "You're Tyler Durden."

  
  


This is gonna get confusing. All those with low IQs please leave the building.

  
  


"Stop with the mental voice overs." Tyler yelled,

"Stop reading my fucking mind!" I yelled back, "Tyler, what the fuck is going on?"

"Look I didn't wanna tell you this, seeing as you're unwilling to help me, I might as well tell you the truth."

"WHAT TRUTH?!"

"My name is Chuck. I use to be a young offender. Nothin' serious. Just the occasional vandalism charge or mugging. When I got out of a five year sentence my Dad got me a job with a car company. I worked really hard to forget my old ways and managed to become a recall operator. I had a good life. A good apartment. A wardrobe that was that was close to being respectable."

  
  


My words coming out of Tyler's mouth.

  
  


"However, I slipped into my old ways. I began walking the streets at night looking for fights. I found one in the form of a big Jewish guy named Ben. I walked up to him in a bar and glassed him. He wasn't even fazed. He got up and beat several types of shit out of me and I ended up in hospital. It was then that you started visiting me. You'd sit by my bedside and start telling me that everything was gonna be okay. You said you'd take care of everything. You'd put it all back together again. And you did. You carried don my job for me. You got me a promotion, a pay rise, my apartment, my life."

"Tyler..." I tried to speak, but the words weren't coming out.

"I sat back and watched you take over my life bit by bit. I tried to break back in, but it was too late. I had to wait for a point when you would be vulnerable."

"So what you're saying is..?"

"You're _my_ alter-ego. It ain't the other way round."

"This doesn't make sense. How come I don't remember any of this?"

"You've chosen to forget about it. I forgive you. Now. Please, now that I've been honest with you. I beg that you help me."

  
  


Tyler got up and took my hand. He helped me up. Then in a way that suddenly reminded me of Bob, he hugged me. 

  
  


"Help me, Tyler" he sobbed.

  
  


The room began to spin. I reached out to grab Tyler, but it was too late. I slipped through his arms and fell to the floor. Fade to black. When I woke up it was the next morning. The TV was on and my video camera had been unpacked. I stumbled off my bed and went to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. My face was bruised below the right eye. I must have hit my head on the table when I went down. _Wait, did I fall or did Tyler? Am I Tyler?_ This was all so much to take in.

  
  


I walked back into the bedroom and picked up my video cam. There was a tape already inside. I hooked the machine up to the TV and pressed play. At first I was greeted by the sight of my own bedroom. Then suddenly the screen was filled with a familiar body. It was me! Yet, it wasn't me. I was sat differently. More confidently. There was a smirk that didn't belong to my face, but that was somehow familiar. It was Tyler's. This was Tyler. This was how I looked when I was Tyler. 

  
  


"Hey, Ikea Boy!" I/Tyler said, "Sorry about last night. I didn't think you were gonna believe me. Let alone faint. However, it worked out to my advantage. It was the only way I could get you to go along with the first stage of the plan. Look I gotta go. Things to see, people to do. Lots of love, the real Tyler Durden."

  
  


With that I/Tyler put on a hoodie and dark glasses and turned off the video. I sat there for a couple of minutes watching the snow cross the screen. I am Jack's big rubbery one. Tyler had a plan. "Fuck" was all I could say before I ran to bathroom and vomited.

  
  


I admit this chapter isn't as good as the other two, but every story needs a filler chapter. Sorry about all the swearing in it, but I have just watched Reservoir Dogs and I think there's a bit of Tarantino in me. Or maybe I am Tarantino. OMIGOD! Ah well, I hoped you enjoyed this. You know the process for reviews.


	4. Crawling

**Crawling**

  
  


**Authors note: **Okay, here we are on the fourth chapter of my general fuck around with Fight Club. Before I get on with the story I should let you know that I'm gonna be changing the back story to Jack and Tyler's history. Don't worry, you will know exactly what I mean when you start reading. If you don't then I'm sure you'll get it at the end. 

  
  


Also there's a few things I want to reply to that have been mentioned in my reviews. First off, I'm sorry if some people think that everyone is getting a little out of character. My reason for this is that if I didn't do it, you'd just have a sequel to Fight Club which was basically a re-hash of the first. To the guy who said, "_You're deluded. He was infatuated with Tyler. Tyler GOOD!_", let me ask you this. If you're best friend screwed you over would you still be infatuated by him? That's the whole point to my story. I'm trying to show that "Jack" doesn't need Tyler any more. And as for who's real? "Jack" or Tyler? Well read on. 

  
  


PS When did America start making "Queer as Folk". That's like one of my favourite programs in England. I can't believe the Americans are remaking it. They better not ruin it like they did "Men Behaving Badly".

  
  


All characters belong to their respective partners. Lyrics at the beginning from Linkin Park.

  
  
  
  


_Discomfort, endlessly has pulled itself upon me _

_Distracting / reacting _

_Against my will I stand beside my own reflection _

_It's haunting how I can't seem _

_To find myself again _

_My walls are closing in _

_[Without a sense of confidence / I'm convinced _

_there's just too much pressure to take] _

_I've felt this way before _

_So insecure..._ - "Crawling" Linkin Park

  
  


I'm sat in the Hotel's restaurant thinking about what Tyler said last night. Am I the imaginary friend? If not, how can I disprove it? There was once a philosopher a couple of hundred years ago, who claimed that all the world was his imagination there to entertain him and that when he died he would wake up in the real world. No one could disprove his theory because every time they did something he would simple turn around and tell them that he imagined they were going to do that.

  
  


That's how I felt at this moment. I rubbed my tired eyes with a napkin and when I opened them I found myself in my Psychiatrist's office. I was lying on the couch and a big black leather chair was next to me. The chair spun to reveal Tyler. Tyler in a tweed suit and Freudian goatee.

  
  


"Tyler?" I stuttered,

  
  


Tyler didn't say anything, he just burst out laughing and he wouldn't stop. 

  
  


"Tyler! Tyler! Stop it! What the fuck is going on?"

  
  


Suddenly, my Mom burst into the room. Except it wasn't my Mom. It was Marla dressed like her. She walked up to me and blew smoke in my face. Tyler continued laughing.

  
  


"Sweetheart, what have I told you about Tyler? You don't need him. You're a big boy now." she cooed,

"Mom," I said "I'm sorry. I just wanted ice cream and Tyler wanted some too."

"Tyler has to go Sweety."

  
  


And with that woke up. I was back in the restaurant. A waiter was stood over me shaking my shoulder. I looked at him and grimaced.

  
  


"Sorry sir, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I didn't get much sleep last night. Um, listen, d'ya think you could call me a cab?"

"Certainly sir. I ring one for you now. Where will you be going?"

"20th Century Studios." Tyler said as he sat down next to me.

"Certainly" the waiter said as he walked away.

  
  


I watched him leave and then I turned to Tyler. He was dressed in a black suit with black shirt and tie. I was suddenly reminded of my dream and I shuddered. I put my mobile next to my head.

  
  


"What are you doing?" Tyler smirked and then "Oh I see. You're gonna do that whole 'Quantum Leap' thing where that guy used to pretend he was on the phone when he talked to that hologram of his. Man, you're such a Fan Boy."

"Hey, Tyler" I said pretending the call had connected on my phone, "Listen cut the crap and tell what the hell you were doing last night?"

"Look how many times have I got to tell you? I'm sorry. I didn't actually think you going to believe me that I came first and you're my alter-ego. Who knows who came first? All we know now is that I'm here, you're here and we've got things to do. Hey, here's one for ya. What if we're Marla's alter-egos?"

  
  


For the first time since I had been reintroduced to Tyler, I laughed.

  
  


"Now how would that work?" I asked,

"I don't know!" said Tyler laughing "It's a real mind fuck, ain't it?"

"Look I want to know happened last night. Sp d'ya wanna go upstairs to somewhere a little bit less...public." I said putting the phone down. 

"Okay, but wait, give me a pen and the $50 you got in your pocket."

"What?! How did you know I had...?"

"Just give me them."

  
  


I handed Tyler the note and a pen. Tyler began scribbling away on the note, chuckling to himself. Then he got up and walked over to the waiter I had spoken to earlier. He was having a cigarette near one of those charity jars. The ones for third world countries. This particular jar had a picture of a starving child covered in flies. His flesh gripping tightly on to his bones. Underneath his picture were the words "Help Rwanda". I got up and watched Tyler hand the note to the waiter, "this is for you", and then walk out of the room. I watched as the waiter began to stare at the note and then at me. I felt uncomfortable and ran after Tyler. 

  
  


I caught up with Tyler in my room. He was sat on the edge of the bed flicking through the stations on Cable TV. "What was that about?" I asked,

"The note I handed that guy said, 'This could feed a child from Rwanda for three weeks'. The waiter has two options. He could put that note in the jar that was next to him or he could spend it quickly relinquishing himself of responsibility for it's message. Yet, here's the genius part. You and I know that most shops are reluctant to take $50 notes because there is a good chance they're fake. We know this because you've been trying to get rid of that note for over a week. His only other option is to put it in the bank and even then he will feel uncomfortable handing in a note that clearly states that it wants to be put into a charity jar."

  
  


And what does this prove?

  
  


"Nothing much really. But it's gonna, hopefully, help him realise the feelings of guilt that can arise through the inheritance of money, or maybe I just like fucking with people."

"Speaking of which," I said "What did you do last night? I mean, did you really have to feed me all that bullshit or..."

  
  


Tyler put a finger to his lips and pointed to the screen. There was a news report on. A women, reminded me of Marla, stood in front of a bar in the more fashionable part of LA. 

  
  


"It was here," she began, "that the actor, Brad Pitt, was attacked lat night while out with his wife, Jennifer Aniston. Brad had been out celebrating the near completion of his new movie, Fight Club. Brad portrays the infamous Tyler Durden. A man who planned to blow up several federal buildings and was also the ring leader of various underground boxing clubs. Some say that Tyler never existed and that he was really the alter ego of a car recall operator named...."

"What the hell is this?" I said talking over the rest of the report, "You attacked Brad Pitt! Are you out of your fucking mind? What the FUCK?!"

"Hey, calm down!" Tyler turned off the TV. "I didn't attack him. That's just all part of CNN's sensational bullshit. I just found him in the toilets and roughed him up a bit. I took his driver's license and said I would come and find him if he didn't try and stop the movie."

  
  


I stood up and began pacing the room.

  
  


"I can't believe this. You did a human sacrifice on Brad Pitt?! Christ, I'm gonna get lynched."

"You're not gonna get lynched." Tyler said handing me a cigarette,

"I thought you didn't smoke." I said taking it,

"I changed my mind. Look, will you calm down. The police will have trouble finding you. First of all, my face was completely covered up and the driver's license I took was wiped for finger prints and chucked in a bin in a 24 hour library."

"I can't believe this. This is... This is... I don't know what this is, Tyler."

  
  


Suddenly the phone rang. Tyler picked it up. "What?" pause "Okay". He replaced the receiver and began walking out of the room. He didn't even look back as he spoke. "Your taxi's here."

  
  


On the way to the studios my stomach began to do somersaults. What if Brad Pitt recognises me? I am Jack's cold sweat. 

  
  
  
  


When I arrived at the studios I was greeted by the director, David Fincher. He shook my hand warmly and took me around the sets. It was the strangest thing. One minute I was in LA and the next I'm stood in my kitchen in Paper street. Then the next I'm in my old apartment before it was rebuilt and Marla moved in. I also saw Brad Pitt. He was stood over in the corner talking to Someone Norton, the guy who was playing me. Brad's right side of his face was bruised all the way down from his forehead to his chin. His eye swollen shut and his lower lip jutted out like Bubba from "Forrest Gump".

  
  


"Is he okay?" I asked David,

"Oh Brad? Sure he's fine. He had a little run in with some weirdo last night."

"That little weirdo would be me, dickwad" Tyler said as he stood next to me,

"He didn't take it to heart. He's always getting threats of some kind. Apparently, some guy tried to creep into his house after they'd seen 'Twelve Monkeys'. Apparently, they weren't happy with his portrayal of an animal activist." 

"Ask them if they're gonna finish the movie." Tyler whispered in my ear,

"Um," I began, "Are you gonna still go ahead with the film."

"Of course we are." Fincher laughed, "Hey, this is the best thing that could happen to us. This is really good publicity. That guy could have blown up one of the sets and I would have still done the picture."

"FUCK! FUCK!" Tyler began hitting a wall and screaming behind my back, "Motherfucker."

"We'll just use his body double in some of scenes," Fincher continued, "Apply lot's of make up to him and shoot most of the scenes in bad light. Come on. I'll show you some of the scenes that we've done already."

Tyler ran off screaming.

  
  


It was strange watching my life on the big screen. Norton had got me down to a T. Brad on the other hand... well, he was just a little bit too perfect to play Tyler. After all, Tyler's words about not needing perfect skin and perfect teeth seemed hollow when Brad spoke. Maybe this is what Tyler meant. When it was over, I made arrangements to come and see the finished product and went back to the hotel room.

  
  


Back at the hotel room, Tyler was sat in front of my laptop typing away.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"This will be my bets idea yet." Tyler said. I had suddenly noticed that he was beginning to sound like a mad scientist.

"Tyler, give it up man." I said pouring myself a drink, "You heard what David said. Anything you do is simply gonna add more publicity to the film. Besides I know you don't have any good ideas."

"I do"

"No, Tyler, you don't. I know because you know."

Tyler stood up. He was pissed. He walked up till he was right in my face.

"And the only reason I'm having bad ideas is because the guy I share brain space with is deliberately blocking his thoughts."

"AH, you noticed." I was beginning to feel quite good about myself. I don't think I've ever made Tyler sweat before.

"C'mon, Ikea Boy. Help me out here."

"No, Tyler. I'm not helping. I've changed and you haven't. It's not gonna work. I don't need you anymore."

Tyler stumbled a bit and grabbed hold of me for balance.

"Yeah, you do." He groaned "You need me to live. You brought me back."

"Tyler, I've got along with out you for six years. You brought yourself back. You need me more then I need you."

Tyler fell to the floor. He was dying. Yet, it looked strangely familiar. "You cocksucker. After all, we've been through.". Suddenly, I remembered something.

  
  


I'm five years old. I'm sat playing a board game. I'm playing a board game with Tyler. Tyler is winning as per usual. My Mom walks into the room. She starts asking me who I'm playing with. I tell her about Tyler. Mom can't see Tyler. Mom doesn't like Tyler. She doesn't think he's healthy for me. Mom says that I have to tell Tyler to go away or else I won't get any ice cream. I tell Tyler when Mom leaves my room. He drops to the floor. He lies very still. I look at his body and begin to cry. Tyler begins to laugh. For that brief moment I was worried about losing Tyler. I lied to Mom and told her that he had gone and I got ice cream. I shared it with Tyler. Tyler finally went when I was seven. It was all so long ago I understand why I never remembered when I saw Tyler on that beach building the shadow hand. The memory also helped me remember how cunning Tyler was.

  
  


"Tyler, I know you're not really dying. You tried this trick when I was five, It worked then, but it's not gonna work now."

  
  


Tyler opened eyes and stuck his tongue back in his mouth. He stood up, said "fuck" and like that he was gone. No poof of smoke. No cries of vengeance. Nothing. Just gone. However, something in the back of my head that Tyler was gonna come back. He hadn't finished. Tyler's new enemy was no longer capitalist pigs. It was me. However, at that moment I didn't care. I had a long bubble bath and went shopping.

  
  
  
  


The next chapter should be sometime soon.

  
  



	5. Who is Tyler Durden?

**Who is Tyler Durden?**

  
  


**Author's note: Bit of a special chapter this one. It's here to sort of clear the pallette before the big showdown. Bit of a crossover chapter as well. I won't tell you who with, but you'll see. Also, yet again I fucking with Fight Club's history, so don't flame me going "ooh, this wouldn't happen" because in the words of Ridley Scott, "It bloody does now".**

  
  


**Dedicated to Lynx Pardina: Thanx for all the encouraging comments.**

  
  


_Since you never gave a damn in the first place_

_Maybe it's time you had the tables turned_

_Cuz in the interest of all involved I got the problem solved_

_And the verdict is guilty..._

_...MAN NEARLY KILLED ME_

_Steppin' where you fear to tread_

_Stop, drop and roll - you were DEAD FROM THE GIT-GO!_

_BIG MOUTH FUCKER - STUPID COCKSUCKER_

_Are you scared of me now? Then you're dumber than I thought_

_Always is, never was_

_Foundation made of piss and vinegar_

_Step to me, I'll smear ya -Think I fear ya? BULLSHIT!_

_Just another dumb punk chompin' at this tit_

_Is there any way to break through the noise?_

_Was it something that I said that got you bent?_

_It's gotta be that way if you want it_

_Sanity, Literal Profanity HIT ME!_ - "Spit it Out" Slipknot

  
  


The first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club. 

The second rule of Fight Club is YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB!

  
  


He broke the first two rules. First he spoke to Marla about me, then the police, those doctors and finally those fucking movie producers. He did all this before finally breaking my heart. He did all this, but I don't blame him. It's not his fault. He became my enemy through no fault of his own. It was those fucking commercials. They brain washed him. What the hell was Marla thinking putting him up for commercials when he had just had a brain enema?! They influenced him and used him. So much so, that when he needed me he didn't even realise it. 

  
  


It didn't always use to be like this. He use to be so beautiful. There was nothing I wouldn't do for him. I remember the first day I met him. He was five years old and he had jut fallen off his pogo stick. His father was nowhere to be seen and his mother was at work. His brother was less interested in his baby brother's grazed knee and more interested in the girl he was about the fingerbang in his room with Black Sabbath on the speakers. So it was left up to me. I went up to him, kissed his knee and told him that no one was gonna help him but himself. I was only five at the time myself. He got up, smiled and hugged me. From that day our friendship blossomed. There was only one problem. His mother. We had to keep our relationship a secret because Mommy Dearest didn't think our relationship was healthy. However, it didn't stop us talking late at night. We talked about nothing and everything. I taught him how to look after himself and how to be a big boy now that his daddy had gone. 

  
  


He believes that I just disappeared after he hit about eight. That's not true. I stayed with him and watched. He wanted me to, but didn't realise it. It's strange to talk about inhabiting his mind with out sounding like a paradox. I had no eyes or ears, but I could hear and see everything he did. Like the time he passed out at the senior prom. I took over and I went up to Lucy Gillis, the girl he had been trying to fuck all night, and I got her. I helped him lose his virginity. That's how much I loved him. Even though something could have happened between him and Lucy which would have meant my total removal, I did it for him. 

  
  


Since then I tried to keep my head down. I didn't want him to know I was still around. As far as he was concerned any women he slept with, including Lucy, were merely drunken one night stands. When his insomnia began to kick in it meant I had an excuse to walk around the city and watch a movie, but most nights I just used to look at myself in the mirror and stare at the amazing reflection in front of me. Then one day something happened that made me realise I had to come back for good. He had taken a trip over to New York for some business meeting about a recall. While he was there he had got friendly with this guy, Patrick Bateman. That's right! Patrick Bateman, the stockbroker that had gotten arrested for all those murders last year. Turns out he had a stake in the car company that Ikea boy worked for. Anyway, they had gone out for a couple of drinks and when Ikea Boy passed out on his hotel room floor I decided to go and see what this guy was really like. There was something that didn't seem right. All style, no substance, if you know what I mean. I went over to his apartment and I was immediately sick to my stomach. Phil Collins could be heard playing even before the door was opened. I knocked loudly and he answered. He was quite handsome, but had the body of a middle aged man that probably looked better when he was in his twenties. Now, he just looked tired and as if he was using more steroids then he should be. 

  
  


He let me in and we talked for a while with me under the guise of Ikea Boy. Soon, the conversation began to get really boring. Everything he talked about involved clothes, money, what the best hi fi was, the fucking piece of shit he called art on his ugly white walls and anything else that made the eighties not worth living. It was then that I realised that this could happen again. The 90's could end up just like the 80's. I mean, already people were concerned about what music you should listen to and whether Nike are releasing the same type of shoe they released 20 years ago, but at $50 more then the usual price. This had to be stopped. 

  
  


I say, fuck Nike. 

I say, deliver me from clever art. 

I say, deliver me from Swedish furniture. 

I say, deliver me from the Patrick Batemans of the world. 

I say, it ends now.

  
  


Remember when I told Ikea boy that I had never had a fight until I met him. I lied.

  
  


I stood up and called Patrick an asshole. No real big plan to it. I just thought it might piss him off enough to want to fight me. I had the urge to fight. I wanted to destroy something beautiful. He didn't move. He just breathed in sharply and laughed.

  
  


"Now why would you say a thing like that?" he said,

"Because you are." I said, 

  
  


I didn't know how I was gonna start a fight with him, but did know that I needed one. He just looked at me and shrugged.

  
  


"You wouldn't be the first one to say that.."

"And I..." I started

"And I bet you are not the last." he smiled

  
  


He wasn't getting angry. There was something in his eyes though that said if he were pushed correctly, he would lose it. Then it struck me, I knew how to get him really pissed. I took the Crystal Champagne flute I had been drinking out of and I threw at his Hi-Fi. The glass shattered into a million tiny pieces and Phil ceased singing about feeling it in the air tonight. There was a brief silence of about six seconds before Patrick was out his chair and at my jugular like a hyena in an Armani suit. I beat him to a frustrated pulp. The fight lasted a good twenty minutes and in that time I managed to destroy his TV, his paintings, his CD collection and anything else I could get my hands on. I wanted him to realise that he didn't need all this to be who he was. Okay, so at the time I didn't realise he was a serial killer, but you get the point I was trying to make. In fact, it's no coincidence that the next morning's newspapers all talked about another five bodies being found around New York. 

  
  


When I got home I knew I would be safe from the police or any assault charges because it's not in Bateman's interest to have his face plastered all over the papers. It doesn't look to good for his company. I got back into bed and kissed Ikea boy lovingly on the head. It would be a long time before I saw him again. I had to work something out. I hoped that he would see things the way I saw them, but I needed time to work out what to say to him. How was I to convince him to join me in a campaign of misinformation that would rid the world of material possessions and unnessercary desirables. I lay low for over two years and I waited. I waited until he would really need me again. Till he would be so broken that he would listen to everything I had to say. My chance came. The rest is history.

  
  


It's all gone now. Bye bye, all gone. He doesn't feel the same way I feel. He's betrayed me. He doesn't love me any more. So, if he's not part of the solution, he's part of the problem. I will sort something out. That incident in the hotel room was just a comfort blanket for him. My way of putting him into a false sense of security before I wash the floor with his face. My time is coming once more. As Prince said, "I've seen the future and it will be. I've seen the future and it works".

**Before people write to me about how they don't like Patrick being in it, I needed someone who would really piss Tyler off and who better then someone who's the complete opposite of him. Anyway, all characters belong to their respective copyrights blah blah blah. **

  
  


**The next chapter might take a couple of weeks to upload because I'm going home for the summer and I need to get my computer hooked up to the Internet. Also, I'll be working for most of the time. However, as soon as it's finished, it'll go up. By hook or by crook.**


	6. If Tyler=Me, Then I=???

In Tyler We Trusted

  
  


If Tyler = me, then I = ???

  
  


Author's Note: Here it is! The final chapter! It's been such a ball ache, but I'm proud of this. This may end up not being the way you expected it to end, but hopefully you'll enjoy it all the same.

  
  


Dedicated to: Joel, ShaggyDiz, ayla, mr. crimson, Wandering Virus, Princess Pardy, emma, DougS, Heather Phillips, FreeThinker, Meg the Fierce Lady, Jenna D, Styx, Cali, Marla Singer, aurora manda, Min, Dusty, Jimbo Hicks, Monty, Danica, Gman, Green, Kacfrog711, Lioness Silence, Gene, Kappy, the immaculate Confection (Even though you called me deluded.), Dusty, SilverHawk, C.F. Ferret, Tonia Barone, PsychoKitty, MdnightRadio, Cherry cola lola, the guy who can't remember if you ordered blue or black pens, ebonyprincess and anyone else who has read and enjoyed this fic. 

  
  


Tyler

"Now I'm not pretty and I'm not cool,

But I'm fat and I'm ugly and proud - so fuck you!

Standing out is the new pretension

Streamline the sicness, half-assed aggression

You gotta see it to believe it, we all got conned

All the mediocre sacred cows we spawned

Put your trust in the mission

We will not repent - this is our religion" Slipknot - "I am Hated"

  
  


Narrator

"Moving all around/ Screaming of the ups and downs

Pollution manifested in perpetual sound

The wheels go round and the sunset creeps past the

street lamps, chain-link and concrete

A little piece of paper with a picture drawn floats 

on down the street till the wind is gone

The memory now is like the picture was then

When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again" Linkin Park - "Forgotten"

  
  


People will always still ask if I know Tyler Durden.

  
  


This isn't surprising. After all, Tyler and I have been known to be in the same place at the same time. The reason for this fear in the first place is because two weeks ago while drinking in Starbuck's, I was tapped on the shoulder.

  
  


"Hello sir."

  
  


I turned and was greeted by an overly familiar face. Short, spiked, bleached hair. Piercing blue eyes. A nose that had been flattened to resemble a turd that had been stepped on. Ladies and gentle men, may I reintroduce good ole Angel Face. I literally fell out of my chair, spilling what was left of my Grande latte down my $36 dollar DKNY shirt.

  
  


"What are you...? I thought...?" I fumbled for the words,

"I know sir," Angel Face smiled, "There's a restraining order. We have all been given one."

"Go away! Tyler isn't here. Tyler's gone."

  
  


The last time I said something like that was on Paper Street when Marla had come to see me. I remember the confused look in her face and I expected that same expression on Angel Face's face, but no.

  
  


"I know sir. I heard everything and I've read the papers. It's just..." He began to look embarrassed, "Do you think he'll ever come back?"

  
  


I stared at him for about a minute and then I turned and stormed out of the coffee bar. This little episode scared me. If Angel Face was out and asking questions, how long after the movie is released will it be before people begin to twig who I am/was?

  
  


Right now though that's the least of my worries because as we speak, the aforementioned dictator has his meaty hand wrapped my throat and has forced me against a wall.

  
  


"Does that sound like a good plan to you?" he asks,

"Fuck you!" I say spraying blood onto his face,

"You probably need time to think. So, how about a flashback?"

  
  


And in a weird way Tyler's right. I do need time to think. So, flashback it is...

  
  


I had been free of Tyler for three months. Ever since he had "died" in my hotel room in LA. In that three months I had moved back into my new apartment and taken my share of the cheque given to Marla and I by David. It hadn't been as much as Marla had been led to believe. Only $50,000 as opposed to the one million dollars she had raved about. Not once did Tyler enter my head.

  
  


I am Jack's blissful ignorance.

  
  


So I've got my money. I've got my apartment and I've got Marla. 

  
  


Ah, yes, Marla.

  
  


Everything always boils down to Marla, doesn't it? Like some crucible in whore's clothing. However, where would I be without her? She's cared for me in a way that Tyler never did. Tyler never loved me. Not that I care! Really!

  
  


Anyway, carrying on quickly, Marla bursted into my bedroom as my neon red alarm clock from IKEA flashed up 5:30. She woke me up from a dream I was having where I was fighting Patrick Bateman. Y'know, the serial killer. He use to be a client when I was younger. So, Marla bursts in, having let herself in using the spare key I had given her. To be used only in the cases of emergencies, I reminded her.

  
  


"This is an emergency!" Marla exclaimed, "i know a way you can get more money?"

"Me more money?" I asked dubiously, 

"Okay, okay. Me more money!"

  
  


Marla admitted to me, as soon as I got back from LA, that she had spent all her share of the money on an investment that had turned bad. In the five months I was gone, she had knocked up an impressive debt of $70,000. She only had $20,000 left to pay off. It was Marla's fault that she had lost all her money, but she had been so helpful to me that I said, "What is it?".

  
  


"You make a few guest appearances at the self help groups."

"No way! Not a chance! Count me out!" I said sitting up,

  
  


Marla sat on the bed and edged her way up to me.

  
  


"Oh come on! I know for a fact that the 'me and me equals three' group are willing to pay $2000 for one nights appearance. Then after we've done the self-help groups, you could release a book and we could do the chat shows again."

  
  


I suddenly became very aware that Marla was naked and rubbing my inner thigh.

  
  


"Look I'LL think about it." I said throwing her arm away and turning onto my side, "Good night, Marla!"

  
  


Marla didn't leave. She didn't move. She stayed sat on the bed and wedged her hand, again, between my legs. I lay there in a cold sweat for ten minutes as she began to knead my balls. Finally, as I faked snoring noises, I felt her Marlboro breath next to my ear and she whispered my name. 

  
  


"What??" I stressed, "What do you want?"

"Please, it's been so long!" She moaned,

"Marla, we never did it! You slept with Tyler a thousand times!" I'd counted. "However, we have never had sex."

"But, I want to sleep with you." she said as she kissed my neck,

"Why?"

  
  


I couldn't understand it. Why would she want to sleep with me?

  
  


"Because you're lonely and I'm lonely and.... Well, dammit, I just want to."

  
  


She spoke with the same intensity Tyler used when he was thinking of a new plan and wanted me to join in. Finally after half an hour I gave in. Guess I WAS lonely like Marla said. The experience was pleasurable, but the strange thing was that for the last few minutes, I thought of Tyler. Don't ask!

  
  


The next evening, Marla dragged me down to a self help group for people who suffer from multiple personality disorder. The group, entitled "Me, Myself and I", consisted of ten people all suffering from the same condition I did. Except without the need to blow up federal buildings. So, I'm stood there talking about my experiences and my first meeting with Tyler. I had been talking for twenty minutes when something unusual happened.

  
  


Have you ever heard someone shout your name through a train tunnel? Have you noticed that haunting way your name bounces from wall to wall? Each vowel and consonant repeated over and over infinitely. That was what I was hearing in my head. Marla, who had been sat next to me, grabbed my arm.

  
  


"Are you okay?" she murmured concerned,

  
  


She wasn't the only one. The congregation in front of me were looking at me as if I were spurting blood from my anus like a fountain.

  
  


"I-I..."

  
  


The voice in my head was growing louder and clearer.

  
  


"I-I'm..."

  
  


L

O

U

D

E

R

!

  
  


"Marla, please..."

  
  


C

L

E

A

R

E

R

!

  
  


"What's wrong?! Tell me!" Marla said,

"Jesus! The guy's okay. Leave him alone"

  
  


Like with the man on the plane, this was not my voice. I didn't dare look to the right of me. I took a deep breath and "smiled". Well, I curled my lips at least.

  
  


"Ladies and gentlemen, I'D like to introduce you to Tyler Durden."

"Hi. How's it going, ya nut bars?" Tyler waved at the crowd,

  
  


At first, the group seemed disturbed, but then one by one they stood up and applauded. Marla stared at me ad I stared back while Tyler bowed and spouted insults to the crowd. Something along the resemblance of tears were forming in her eyes.

  
  


"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think I needed to."

  
  


Marla upped and ran out of the room. I called after her to wait, but she disappeared in a cloud of cigarette smoke. The whole time the crowd were still cheering. It was like they were at a concert.

  
  


"Fucking let her go!" Tyler said grabbing my shoulder,

  
  


I threw his hand off me and turned to face him.

  
  


"What the fuck are you doing here?"

  
  


The crowd died down and returned to their seats. They were obviously expected some kind of show. Especially, considering the guy in front of them who claimed to have over come MPD was talking into two different voices. 

  
  


"Is that the kind of welcome I get after four months apart?"

"Tyler..."..."

"Hey, let me finish." Tyler snapped, "you and I need to talk downstairs. The basement."

  
  


Then, like Marla, he left the room. He only turned once and stared at the group.

  
  


"Nice fans you got there." he smirked,

  
  


After two minutes of silence, I mumbled an apology to the group and left.

  
  


The basement is really not a pronoun I'D use to describe the room where I was to meet Tyler. A basement gives off the impression that it holds things like old lamp shades and boxes of comic books and other such shit. This room was bare. The janitor of the building obviously having given up on the idea of actually storing anything in here. The basement now only held a single light bulb, a hard concrete floor and crumbling brick walls. I walked down the wooden steps to the bottom one at a time.

  
  


"Tyler?"

  
  


I couldn't see him anywhere. Then, finally, when I had reached the bottom step he jumped me. Clearly, he'd been following me as I left the meeting room. Picking myself up, I heard Tyler laughing as I wiped the grit from my eyes.

  
  


"Too slow there, Ikea boy." He smirked, "you use to be so much more quicker then that."

"Thank you for that pointer, Kato." I pulled a cigarette out and lit up, "Why are you here? I thought I'd..."

"Thought you'd pushed me back to the hidden caverns of your Mind!" Tyler yelled,

  
  


Tyler grabbed the cigarette out of my mouth and made himself comfortable on the wooden steps.

  
  


"You thought you'd got rid of me. Please!" He laughed venomously, "You're never gonna get rid of me. Christ, you need me!"

  
  


Here we go! Back to that broken record.

  
  


"Need you? Tyler it's not like I love you."

  
  


There was a brief silence from Tyler. His face appeared to drop and if I didn't know any better I'D say he was disappointed by my comment. Finally, he laughed.

  
  


"Love?! No one mentioned love. What are you? A fucking faggot?" he said standing up and flicking the cigarette over into the corner, "In fact, you know what? Fuck this bullshit!"

  
  


He launched a fist straight at my face. I crumpled to the ground, holding my nose. Tyler began to kick me around the room.

  
  


"I was gonna talk to you." Kick. "I was gonna come to some sort of agreement with you." Kick "I was gonna share this body with you."

"Like timeshare?" I spluttered,

"Yeah!" Kick! Kick! KICK! "but, instead, fuck it! How about this? I beat you fucking senseless, put you in a coma and I take over."

  
  


Tyler picked me up by the scruff of my neck and slammed me into a wall.

  
  


"Does that sound like a good plan to you?" he asks,

"Fuck you!" I say spraying blood onto his face,

"You probably need time to think. So, how about a flashback?"

  
  


I think this is the point at which we came in.

  
  


"So, it is." Tyler replies, "Your answer please."

"Um, I'm still gonna have to go with..." I croaked, "Fuck you!"

  
  


Tyler launched another assault into my stomach. However, this time I began to defend myself and throwing a punch I clipped him in the ear. De ja vu.

  
  


"That's it!" Tyler said clutching his ear, "Come on! Fight me! Join me!"

  
  


I leapt at Tyler and we began to scramble across the floor. There use to a beauty to our fights. The sound of flesh slapping flesh. Now, it was a case of every man for himself. That sort of primal scream that made you feel like a god. I grabbed Tyler's head and began to slam it against the floor. Blood sprayed up in the air. Suddenly the door to the basement opened and Marla appeared in the doorway.

  
  


"What the fuck is going on here?" She screamed,

  
  


"Marla, baby!" Tyler shouted as he got on top of me and punched me in the kidneys, "I'll be with you in a second."

"Marla!" I screamed, "Help me!"

  
  


Marla ran down the steps. 

  
  


"What do you want her to do?" Tyler smiled "Pull me off you. She can't fucking see me, Nimrod!" 

"He's got a point." Marla said.

"Marla, knock me out."

"With what?!

"Your shoe... Something... I don't know."

  
  


Tyler stopped punching and looked at me. 

  
  


"Dick! I want you to get knocked out." he sneered

"no, you want me to believe you've won! I want you to believe that we're both getting knocked out."

"Huh?"

  
  


And with that Marla began to pound Tyler in the head with her shoe. It took two hits before we were plunged into darkness.

  
  


When I woke up I was in a cell. The same kind of cell I use to be in when I was locked up. Except this one was completely red. Over in the corner I saw Tyler sat on a bed in a red straight jacket. He looked so much older then I use to believe him to be.

  
  


"Tyler..."..."

"It's my own fault really." Tyler interrupted, "i raised you and taught you not to fall into a dictatorship. So, what do I go and do. I try to rule your life. I'm a one man idiot."

  
  


I sat next to Tyler. For the first time I felt compassion for him.

  
  


"We're forty in four years time." he continued, "For-ty! I don't think I can continue all this crap. Hence those melodramatics before. Just call it one last bid for freedom."

"Tyler..." where are we?"

"We're nowhere. This is what, I assume, you expect me to stay locked in for the rest of your life." He smiled and began to sing, "Come see my cage, built in my grain."

"Tyler...", it never had to be like this." I put my arm around him, "You've shown me a lot. I got scared of you that's all. It was me that made you this monster. Maybe I wanted to wake myself up and realise that you didn't exist." 

  
  


Tyler winced at that last word. I understood. Tyler had spent his entire life believing he was real. True, he didn't exist to anybody else but me. Yet, the fact that he had some sort of existence, no matter how small, made him real. He wasn't rising from the grave. I was making him come back. I wanted him to come back. It was pissing him off as much as it pissed me off. Suddenly, I could hear Marla calling out my name. It was distant, but it was there. Tyler looked up at me and smiled.

  
  


"You better go."

"What about you?" 

"The better man won. That's the belief you distilled in me. If you don't believe in me then I'm nothing. All I ask is that you don't try and bring me back. I can't be fucked anymore."

We both smiled. I pulled Tyler close to me.

"I'll miss you." I said,

"No! You won't." Tyler said sternly, "Otherwise, you'll bring me back, like some puppet out of a closet."

  
  


It hit me again. How Tyler never controlled me! I controlled him.

  
  


"I'm sorry." I said,

"Leave it."

  
  


I stroked my hand across his face. I felt the roughness of his stubble and dents of his pores. At that moment, he was the most beautiful person I had ever met. I leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. Tyler flinched slightly and then relaxed. The kiss became long and deep. It reminded me of those first kisses you had with your girlfriend, when you couldn't decide which way your lips should go. Finally, I pulled away as I heard Marla's voice again.

  
  


"Go." was all Tyler said,

  
  


I walked up to the cell door and took once last glimpse of Tyler. Part of me was gonna miss him, but not enough to bring him back and fuck him around. As Tyler began to sing his little song, I opened the cell door and left. 

  
  


"Come see my cage, built-in migraine. Keeping myself alive through your empathy."

  
  


Marla stood over my body, prodding me with her shoe. Slowly, I stirred and opened my eyes.

  
  


"I thought I'd lost you there." she cried, helping me to my feet,

"So did I."

"Tyler?"

I placed my finger onto her lips. "Shh! Tyler doesn't exist."

  
  


Marla smiled and hugged me. Suddenly, it seemed like the right thing to say...

  
  


"Marla, move in with me!"

"Wha'?" 

"Move in with me. You're not gonna be able to afford the rent on your place anymore. Move in with me and help keep Tyler away. Please, I lo..." I tailed off.

"Were you just about to say you love me?" Marla said

"I have no fucking idea." I laughed,

"Nor do I."

  
  


We both lit up a cigarette and that was that. Marla moved in with me. Neither of us know where this will lead. At the moment we just enjoy each other's company. The movie came out last month to critical acclaim. So much so, that the cartoon series comes out next week on Fox, "The Further Adventures of Tyler Durden". Tyler would be so proud. The only strange thing that's happened since that night in the basement, is that I keep having this strange dream. In that dream, I'm back in my cell and there are two guys looking at me. One is my doctor and the other is an orderly. They ask me questions which I refuse to answer or maybe I can't. Then they feed me a couple of pills and begin to walk out of the room.

  
  


"He's never gonna come out of that state." The doctor says, "Tell Miss Singer the bad news that there's been no change."

"Well, there has slightly." The orderly says as they leave the room, "He's smiling now."

"Wouldn't you smile too? He's happy now, he's in his own world." 

And they leave.

  
  


And the doctor in my dream is right. I am happy and in my own world.

  
  


I'm in a world with Tyler Durden.

THE END

  
  
  
  


Tyler

"In the memory you'll find me,

Eyes burning up,

The darkness holding me tightly,

Until the sun rises up" Linkin Park - "Forgotten"

  
  


Narrator

"Gently, my mind escapes into the relaxing

world of pleasure, a pleasure that'll take

my mind off the reality of my life,

My past life... life as I know it now,

  
  


And whatever may come, it slowly

disappears to somewhere in the back

of my mind. It will remain there 

until I wish to retrieve it.

  
  


Yes, I will stay here for awhile,

for I need the break. A break from the 

pressures of life, and everything

that lays in the palm of life's hands.

  
  


This mode is incredible. It's out of

this world. Too bad I must always leave it...

...but that's life." Slipknot - "Gently"

  
  


Tyler's cell song taken from Slipknot's "Skin ticket".

  
  


That's it all done. That has been the most ambitious fan fic I've done. To appreciate more, I suggest you listen to the tracks I've mentioned at the beginning of each chapter. Think of it as a soundtrack. If you can't track them down then listen to the Fight Club Soundtrack. Works just as well. Anyway, I've got to go now while I try and work out what other movie or book I can fuck with.

  
  



End file.
